


Learning to Love the Cold

by raviolitomyjaeger



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Multi, i wrote this way too quickly it sucks i'm sorry, sort of based on the comic by kimiooon on tumblr, who would have guessed, yet another figure skating au from a figure skater
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-12 16:59:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1192815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raviolitomyjaeger/pseuds/raviolitomyjaeger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschstein really can't stand the cold, and moving to Michigan definitely makes him want to hate it even more. Enter Marco Bodt, figure skating Olympic hopeful, who might be able to teach him that the cold isn't so bad after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Swizzles

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of based on the comic by kimiooon on tumblr! There are probably quite a few other fics that are much better than this one floating around for it, but I thought it’d be fun. Mostly because whenever anything to do with skating comes up I have to write it. Ah, so consider this a prequel to Taking the Gold, since I kind of throw in a reference with Eren and Mikasa. (You don’t have to read it, but.)
> 
> Also, apologies—this is kind of terrible. I wrote it pretty quickly, so.

Jean Kirschstein never really was one for the cold, growing up in California.

Of course, it’s only his luck that he moves to Michigan in one of its coldest winters in ages.

He was against it, really, but his parents left no choice in the matter. His dad had a great new job opportunity with much higher pay. (They told him this with overly cheery faces and the voices they would use when talking to a baby. He already can’t stand them, and the way they treat him has pushed him over the edge more than once.)

So, here he is, senior year, freezing to death, and pretty much friendless.

Except for Armin Arlert.

On the first day at his new school, the shorter blonde talked to him right away, offering to show him to his classes and whatever else he might need help with.

Jean’s first question was how long would it be until he wouldn’t freeze his ass off when he takes one step outside.

“It’s not that cold. We’re mostly passed that! It’s been getting warmer every day!” was the kid’s reply. (So, they consider twenty five degrees _warm_ here? Wonderful. Really, truly wonderful.)

Lunch time comes around and, naturally, he sits with Armin. This is when he meets the blonde’s two best friends—Eren Jaeger and Mikasa Ackerman. Mikasa absolutely stuns him. He’s never been so tempted to reach out and touch someone’s hair before. It has to be made of silk. There’s no other way it could look so soft.

Eren, on the other hand, annoys the hell out of him. He doesn’t even have to say anything—it’s his face. He looks so angry, especially when he glances at Jean. Really, what’s his problem? Needless to say, they definitely do not get along at all.

During passing time, Armin tells him more about Mikasa (and Eren, much to Jean’s dismay), and it turns out that they’re figure skaters. A pair, actually, gearing up for nationals in January and Olympic hopefuls. The idea of skating makes Jean shiver. Why? Why would anyone suffer through the cold, even when it’s warm out and you could go swimming? He’s only skated once in his lifetime—it was a school fieldtrip when he was nine. That was the day he decided he hated the cold, actually.

But Armin says he should come to the rink and see them skate sometime. They really are amazing and Armin’s sure they’ll make it to the Olympics. (He starts rambling about Russia and traveling at this point. Jean swears he can see the stars in his eyes as he goes on and on about how cool it would be to see the world.)

So a week later, Armin takes him to the rink after school.

Jean’s sticking to how much he hates the cold, but this rink is far more astounding than any other rink he’s ever seen. It’s _huge._ There are three sheets of ice, each Olympic size, and each has enough seating for well over a thousand. It makes him forget he hates the cold for a minute.

In rink one, he can already see Eren and Mikasa practicing. Their coaches are telling them something, and the two are nodding in agreement with whatever they’re saying. (Jean sort of wishes he could read lips, but he probably wouldn’t understand whatever the two were being instructed to do anyway.)

He watches the two as they move around the ice—Mikasa much more graceful than Eren—and he throws her into the air.

“A triple twist,” Armin says, leaning forward. “They’ve been struggling with it.”

Jean frowns. It looked fine to him.

His attention moves to another skater at this point—a boy. He’s moving so quickly that Jean’s having trouble making out his features, but he’s guessing he’s around his age. He’s going into a jump and then, before Jean knows it, he’s landed.

He can clearly see his face now and, oh God, _he’s so hot it makes Jean physically hurt because people should not look that good and on top of that it’s obvious he’s super talented if he can land jumps like that so flawlessly._

Without taking his eyes off of the boy, Jean whispers to Armin, “Who’s he?”

“Who—oh! That’s Marco! He goes to our school too, but with Nationals so close his parents pulled him out for training and whatnot. Eren and Mikasa will probably be pulled out of school for a while soon, too,” he adds.

Jean nods. Yeah, he hasn’t seen him before. He would remember if he did.

Marco spots them watching him and a smile crosses his face. (Jean’s internally crying at this point.) He makes his way to the boards, stopping and leaning over it. “Hey, Armin!” he calls.

Armin stands up but Jean stays put. He doesn’t know him, so he probably shouldn’t—

Armin tugs on his sleeve to come with, so Jean follows him to where Marco standing.

“Hey, Marco! You look good out there,” Armin flashes a smile.

“Thanks!” Marco turns his attention to Jean now (up close, Jean can see he has freckles, too). “You’re Jean, right? Armin told me about you! Said you didn’t really like the cold much.”

“I, uh, yeah. I’m not a huge fan of the cold.”

_Yes Jean, that’s the perfect way to introduce yourself. Absolutely perfect._

Marco laughs, “Well, the rink isn’t too bad. Besides in the mornings. So long as you hang out in the stands it’s not too bad. Have you ever skated before?”

“Like once. I was nine. Definitely not my thing. It looks cool, though.”

“Maybe I could teach you something sometime,” Marco says. He steps back from the boards. “I should get back to skating for now, though. I’d rather not get yelled at by my coach. It was nice meeting you!”

“Yeah, you too,” Jean says, watching the boy skate off. Marco immediately goes into a spin, and Jean asks, “What’s that?”

“A flying camel,” Armin says, hardly even looking at Marco, instead watching Mikasa and Eren do, well, whatever they’re doing. Jean has no idea.

Jean sighs, resting his elbows on the boards where Marco was only moments before. Great. Now he has not only a lot of skating terms he has to learn, but he’s going to have to teach himself to like the cold.


	2. Waltz Jumps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, Jean can’t figure it out. How on earth could someone be more comfortable with what is basically overly priced knives connected to overly priced boots while flying around on a slippery surface rather than being on their own two feet on a—hopefully—not so slippery surface?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s hard to write about skating from a non-skater’s point of view. Oh gosh. Like how even. But yes, new chapter! There are quite a few figure skating terms in this, so stick with me here. I’m going to do my best to explain them, but it would probably be helpful to you to look them up and see them for yourself if you’re really curious.

Jean was wrong. Very, _very_ wrong.

He’s not going to have to learn to like the cold.

He’s going to have to learn how to love it.

He learns this throughout the following week of meeting Marco.

For starters, it’s cold as dicks in Michigan. His lips have never been so chapped in his entire life and he’s surprised his fingers haven’t succumbed to frostbite. And, of course, he’s spent at least two hours at the rink after school every day with Armin to watch their friends (read: Marco) skate.

Marco was right about the rink though—it isn’t too cold. They have heaters for the people in the stands, and even when you get up close to the ice it’s not like he’s shivering. (He usually _does_ have goose bumps, but that may or may not be related to how close he is to Marco at those times.)

He’s learned a few things in the past week. An obvious one he probably could have figured out himself—the sit spin. Seriously, you literally sit. Well, okay, not literally, but literally. You spin on one foot and go into a sitting position while making sure the only part of your body even touching the ice is your blade, even though your blade isn’t technically part of your body. Another thing he’s learned is that a lot of skaters almost do consider their blades a part of their body, since they feel more confident on a blade strapped to a custom fitted boot than on their own feet.

Really, Jean can’t figure it out. How on earth could someone be more comfortable with what is basically overly priced knives connected to overly priced boots while flying around on a slippery surface rather than being on their own two feet on a—hopefully—not so slippery surface?

How do people become more coordinated when they’re on these over glorified knives?

Who even came up with over glorified knives anyway?

_“Ah yes. Let me strap this knife to my boot and stEP ONTO THIS DANGEROUSLY SLIPPERY SURFACE. TOTALLY NOT GONNA DIE DOIN’ THIS.”_

He really doesn’t understand.

He does ask Armin about it, but he’s not even sure who came up with the idea. Which kind of surprises Jean, since he’s pegged him as the kind of guy to know everything.

“Wait, okay, what’s he about to do?” Jean’s sort of squinting (guess who was too lazy to put their contacts in or even smash their glasses onto their face that morning?) as he watches Marco cross the ice.

Armin switches from watching Eren and Mikasa to Marco. “I think he’s going into a triple lutz,” he pauses as Marco actually does the jump, then nods, “Yeah, a triple lutz.”

“How do you tell the difference?”

“By their entry. And edges. Skating is full of edges.”

“Edges?”

“Okay,” Armin shifts in his seat so he can look at Jean while watching everyone on the ice, “So, you have your blade. You saw how Marco was leaning more to one side of his blade than the other when he landed, right?” He doesn’t wait for Jean to give any sort of reply, “That’s an edge. They’re incredibly important in skating. You can get deductions on your skating if your edge is wrong.”

“For an _edge_?” Jean leans back in his seat, looking distressed. He glances at Marco, who’s doing some kind of complicated footwork and looking rather frustrated. “Okay, I’ll learn about edges later. Different jumps?”

“Well, the easiest one to tell the difference on would probably be an axel. For the entry they’re facing forward. They kick through with one leg and launch themselves into the air, to put it simply. It’s not that simple though; axels are really hard. It’s two jumps put together—the waltz jump and the loop jump.”

“Okay, what are waltz jumps and a loop jumps?”

“The waltz jump has the same entry as an axel, but it’s only a half rotation. The—”

“Half rotation?”

“The waltz jump is one of the first jumps you learn. Like I said, the entry happens when you’re facing forward. Since it’s such a simple jump, you kind of jump into the air, turn backwards, and land. That’s half a revolution. There are other jumps that are half revolution jumps, like the half flip and half lutz. A full revolution jump would be a loop. You go into the air backwards, spin around in the air once, and land backwards. So if you do a double loop, you’ve spun twice in the air.”

“That makes sense. Okay, so what’s a loop look like?”

“There are two different entries—”

“No. No, stop right there. It’s not allowed to have _two entries._ That’s just confusing. No. That’s enough learning for today.”

Armin smiles, “Whatever you say, Jean.”

The two are quiet for a while, watching the others skate around. (Jean snorts when Eren lands on his butt. _Hard._ To Eren’s defense, the jump was nearly perfect, but he landed before he was fully rotated.)

“Hey, Armin?”

“Hm?” he doesn’t look over at Jean this time, focused on the spin that Eren and Mikasa are intertwined in.

“Did you used to skate? Like, you know a lot and I know that might be from being around skaters, but…” Jean’s voice trails off as he notices the way Armin freezes up. “Sorry, I—”

“No, no. It’s fine. Yeah, I used to skate. Things happened that prevented me from continuing, though,” he smiles sadly. “It’s fine though. As long as my friends can keep on skating, I’m happy.”

Jean nods, really unsure of what to say. He can’t offer comforting words, as he doesn’t know what happened. And even if he did know, he’d probably stutter out an “I’m sorry,” and leave it at that. Being comforting really isn’t his forte.

* * *

“I’m glad to see you’ve already made new friends. You never were all that sociable; I’m genuinely surprised.”

“Yes, thank you mom, I appreciate it,” he grimaces. God, he can’t stand her. His own mother. Aren’t moms supposed to be loving and supportive?

He sets down the fork, pushing himself away from the table. “I’m done. Thanks for dinner.”

“You didn’t eat much,” his dad eyes the plate.

“I ate at the rink.”

“The rink?”

Jean nods. “Uh, yeah. The rink.”

“Why were you there?”

“Well, my new friends skate. So we hang out there after school.”

“Your sisters would be interested in that! You should tell them!”

“Um, sure? I will, I guess,” he turns and runs up the stairs, nearly falling as he does so. He closes the door to his room behind himself, his phone buzzing almost immediately after.

**Unknown Number:** hi! it’s marco! i got ur number from armin! :)

Jean whisper yells a, “Yes!” and replies, then adds Marco’s number to his phone.

Today was a relatively good day, despite the below zero temperatures outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, as a skater I actually am far more comfortable in my skates and on the ice. So are most of my skater friends. So it really is a thing. Anyway, if you guys have any questions about the story or skating, don’t be afraid to ask, I’d love to answer! I hope you guys liked it!


	3. Laybacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco purses his lips, glancing upwards. “I don’t think of myself as dedicated, really. It’s not like I haven’t wanted to quit before. It’s simply that I’ve spent my whole life doing this. I wouldn’t know what to do if I didn’t. And the times I came close to quitting, I knew it wouldn’t be worth it because I’ve already put so much in, so why not work harder to reach my full potential?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might seem like a filler chapter, but I promise all of the things mentioned will come into play somewhere throughout the story.

“Armin, I am so confused.”

The blonde looks up from his book. “About?” he asks, his eyes scanning the ice.

“The girl with the pigtails. Like, I’ve seen her before, but I never paid attention to her skating. She like. I don’t even know.”

Armin glances at Jean, head tilted. “Mina? What do you mean ‘she like’? What are you confused about?”

“No, okay, like. She’s about to go into a spin. Watch.”

There’s a pause and then Armin says, “Yeah? She’s doing a layback. What about it?”

“She spins the other way!” Jean exclaims, looking far more distressed about it than he should.

Armin sighs, closing his book and straightening in his seat. “Calm down. It’s not like she’s the only lefty skater in the world.”

“Lefty?” Jean watches the girl as she does something. (This is frustrating—why can’t he just know all of the terminology and what everything looks like already? There’s too much to learn and he knows he won’t remember.)

“Yes, lefty. I’m assuming you know this, but for the sake of explaining this I’ll tell you anyway. People either write with their right hand or their left, yes? That’s generally their more dominate hand, and usually that comes into play with skating. Most skaters skate ‘righty’, which is what you’re mostly used to seeing. There are two reasons for this. One, there are more righties in this world than lefties. Two, a lot of lefties are trained to be righties, despite it being uncomfortable to help them in the long run, since they have a harder time with competing because it throws judges off. That’s why Eren’s a righty skater, despite being left handed. Mina, on the other hand, went ahead and learned how to skate lefty anyway. And Levi,” he points to the short, angry looking black haired man currently yelling at Eren, “is also a lefty. Some people who are right handed skate lefty, though, and vice versa.”

“What the hell.” It’s not even a question. Simply a flat out statement from the poor, confused seventeen year old as his eyes dart between Marco and Mina. Armin’s worried—he looks like he’s about to cry from this new information. “This means that jumps and spins have more entries then, doesn’t it?”

“They’re the same, Jean. Just exactly the opposite.”

“That’s a contradiction.”

“They’re like mirrored, I guess. Not really, but sort of.”

Jean drops his face into his hands. “That’s it. I’m done. I cannot learn all of this. This is the end for me. Tell my parents I hate them. Tell Marco his freckles are cute. Tell Eren he’s the biggest bag of dicks I’ve ever met. I’m leaving.”

* * *

“So, what about my freckles being cute?”

“I—what?” Jean feels somewhat horrified. He looks it too. (Did Marco hear his over dramatic speech?)

“I happened to be skating past when you were having an emotional breakdown.”

“It was not an emotional breakdown! I just… there’s too much to learn. And I don’t even have to _do_ any of it.” Jean frowns. “How do you even do any of that stuff?”

“Fifteen years of practice, Jean. It’s not like it happened overnight. I’m glad that doesn’t happen overnight, actually. Working for it sucks, but it feels nice, too.” The boy smiles at him. Even without his skates, he’s still a few inches taller than Jean.

“Well, I get that. I mean, the dedication. I could hardly stay in one sport for more than a few months, let alone fifteen years.”

Marco purses his lips, glancing upwards. “I don’t think of myself as dedicated, really. It’s not like I haven’t wanted to quit before. It’s simply that I’ve spent my whole life doing this. I wouldn’t know what to do if I didn’t. And the times I came close to quitting, I knew it wouldn’t be worth it because I’ve already put so much in, so why not work harder to reach my full potential?”

Jean’s silent for a while after Marco says this. In the past few weeks, Jean’s learned that Marco is, without a doubt, the nicest person he has ever met and probably ever will meet. He didn’t know it was actually possible for someone to be so caring and sweet, especially to him. He’s practically a stranger (or, was a stranger) who came in from nowhere and decided _hey why don’t I watch these people skate every single day and question them on all of the things they do._ He knows he’d be annoyed if he were in a similar situation.

Not that he ever would be. He’s never had the words talent or dedication applied to him in his life.

“I think that’s being determined. Most people would quit if they wanted to.”

Marco shrugs, “I guess, if you want to think of it that way. For me, skating is my life, and there’s really no way around it.”

“Do you like it?” Jean’s glancing through the windows separating him from the cold into rink two. There’s an intense hockey game going on, and Jean wonders what it would be like to _like_ the cold. To love getting up in the early hours of the morning and lacing your skates with sore hands. Loving how the ice crunches beneath your blades and how snow flies into the air when you stop. He thinks, had he been raised doing something like this, something so amazing and _beautiful_ , he wouldn’t mind the cold.

“Most of the time.” Marco stops and stares at the game going on below them. “There are times where I don’t, but I know that if I keep going I’ll like it again. So I do.”

* * *

 

There’s a week to go until Christmas break.

And four weeks until Marco competes at Nationals.

Meaning contact between him and Jean is near impossible, since he’s almost always on the ice.

Jean can’t make it to the rink after school for the week, either, since his family decided it would be such a great idea to visit.

The few times he does get to talk to Marco throughout the week, it’s about skating. They were finally starting to talk about other things outside of skating and outside of the cold, and Jean feels like he’s back at square one. Square one of what, he’s not sure. But he’s definitely not going to get to know his stupid freckled crush better if all he can talk about is skating.

But, at the same time, it seems like his stupid freckled crush’s entire life is skating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a lefty skater, so I had to add it in there somewhere.
> 
> Okay, I have a question for you guys! Would you like me to make a tumblr tag for this? It’s not like I’m thinking this will end up super popular or something, but more like it would be easier for you guys to find updates, I guess? So the tag will be fic: learning to love the cold. Easy enough. And also, my writing blog is raviolijaegerbomb. You can find my main blog on there, too, if you’d like.


	4. Pivots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean looks at him. The way the other’s lips curve makes him want to close the short distance between them and kiss him, but he decides that’s probably not the best move. Not yet, at least. He doesn’t want to ruin any chances by doing something without warning. He also doesn’t want to be a distraction to Marco leading up to nationals and, hopefully, the Olympics.

Christmas comes and goes, but not all that quickly.

Jean’s family’s going to be around until the day before he starts school back up. And really, he’s not sure if he’s going to survive at this point.

Having his siblings home is one thing, but all of his aunts and uncles, along with his cousins? There’s hardly any room to walk without running into one another, and he has to share his room with his brother. It’s not like he hates his brother—he’s probably Jean’s favorite out of everyone in his family—but sharing a room with him isn’t the greatest when he’s eight years older. As a kid it was fascinating. Now he needs his space.

So when Marco texts him and asks him if he wants to hang out and spend the night at his house for new years, he happily agrees. For both the reason of his family crowding him and the fact that it’s the last time he and Marco will get to properly hang out before nationals, and possibly the Olympics if he makes it.

**Jean:** really though like it needs to new years now i can’t do anything my family is everywhere i think they’re multiplying there’s like three people i don’t even recognize

“Jean, no texting at the table!”

“Sorry, mom,” he shoves his phone into his pocket, inwardly groaning.

“You actually have friends?” One of Jean’s older sisters—the one by three years—asks.

Jean nods. “Yeah, believe it or not I actually do.”

“Oh!” Jean’s mother perks up as she glances between her two youngest children. “Jean, did you tell the girls about all of your new skating friends?”

“No.” _Can I please go to my room? Or better yet, Marco’s room?_ (He wonders what Marco’s room looks like. Is it messy, or clean? Probably clean. Marco seems so neat when it comes to that kind of stuff. Does he live in a big house? A mansion?)

“Well, tell them!”

“I have friends. They skate,” he turns back to his mother. “There, I told them.”

“ _Jean._ ”

“Fine. I have friends. They skate. They might go to the Olympics. So that’s a thing, I guess. Good enough this time?”

His oldest sister—by five years—leans forward. “Give me names. I might know who they are if they’re _that_ good.” She looks like she doesn’t believe him.

“Marco Bodt—that’s who I was texting a minute ago. Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackerman, Mina Carolina. There are others, too.”

His sisters are staring at him with their mouths wide open. “Marco Bodt? You’re friends with _Marco Bodt_?”

“Um, yeah. Is it that big of deal? He can skate. Why are you so amazed?”

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

His mom’s not paying attention anymore, so he pulls it out.

**Marco:** that sounds terrifying oh gosh

“Are you talking to him? Like, right now?”

Jean glances up, making a face at his oldest sister. “Yeah, so what?”

“Can you tell him I said hi?”

“He doesn’t even know who you are.”

“So you’ve never mentioned me before?” She looks offended.

“There wasn’t a point.” He ignores her after that, his attention settling on his phone again.

He has mentioned her before, but only in passing. (It was a, “I have two sisters. They both suck,” kind of thing.)

**Jean:** my sisters are like huge fans of you apparently i find it really funny like they’re freaking out that not only do i have friends but they’re like famous or whatever

**Marco:** tell them i said hi! :)

**Jean:** no they’re terrible they don’t deserve it

**Marco:** u only dislike them because ur siblings

**Jean:** no though like they dressed me up as a fairy princess before i could defend myself as a child you don’t understand that pain

**Marco:** im the youngest too jean don’t act like ur the only one that suffered

**Jean:** yeah okay but did your sisters dress you up as a fairy princess and then take you to show and tell while your mom proudly took pictures of her daughters parading around the school with her youngest son’s face smeared with red lipstick because

**Marco:** no but

**Marco:** yeah no I didn’t suffer that much

**Jean:** on the bright side i’m pretty sure i look hot as hell with red lipstick on to this day

**Marco:** r u saying u were hot as hell in red lipstick as a child?

**Jean:** yes

* * *

New Years Eve finally comes around. Jean spends most of his day impatiently counting down the minutes until he’ll be at Marco’s, away from the craziness that is his family.

At 4:30, he grabs his stuff and makes his way for the door. He gets stopped by different family members about four times before he makes it, but he manages somehow. Twenty five minutes later, he’s parked in the Bodt’s driveway.

_So he does live in a mansion._

Jean’s only been in one mansion. His grandparent’s on his mom’s side back in France. They’d usually go there over Christmas break, but with moving not long before everyone decided it would be best to come to them, hence how packed his house has been.

_I’m five minutes early._

_Five minutes isn’t that bad. But what if I was five minutes late? Isn’t that usually a bad thing? So being five minutes early might be bad, too._

He pushes back his internal struggle and makes his way to the massive front door and rings the doorbell. He can hear a faint _ding dong_ from inside the house, and then shuffling.

The door opens and there stands an older woman who strongly resembles Marco. She even wears the same kind smile and sports freckles. “Hello! Come in, come in! You’re Jean, right? Marco’s told me all about you. I’m his mother. It’s lovely to meet you!”

Jean opens his mouth to reply, but Marco’s making his way down the (also massive) staircase. “Jean! Hi!”

Jean slips his shoes off and leaves them by the door (he figures they’ll be fine there; there’s four pairs of shoes sitting there besides his own). “Hey,” he smiles at Marco.

Marco turns around, waving for Jean to follow him. As they go, Marco’s mother says, “I’ll bring you guys a tray of snacks in a few minutes!”

“Thanks, mom.”

When Jean reaches the landing, he stops in his tracks. “Oh my God, your house is huge,” he says, looking down the hallway. It stretches to both the right and left, doors everywhere. He can see that if you continue all the way to the right, the hallway curves. On the left, there’s another staircase to the third floor. “How do you not get lost in here?” he asks when he stumbles into following Marco again. The floor is cold on his feet (it’s _marble._ The floor is literally made of marble. How rich is he? Or, his parents, he supposes).

“I grew up here,” he says, heading to the right. “Well, mostly grew up here. I was born here, then we went back to France for a year, then Italy. We came back when I was two, going on three.”

“You’re French?”

Marco nods, going down the curve in the hallway. (This time, the hallway is one long stretch with only a turn to the left at the end.) “Yeah. My dad actually really wanted me to skate for France, but I was raised here. So I feel like that wouldn’t be right.”

They make it to the end and turn again. Jean opens his mouth to respond when one of the doors open and out steps a girl. She looks like Marco—almost like a girl version of him without freckles. She eyes Jean for a moment before slipping past the two without a word. Marco opens the door opposite of the one she came out of, taking Jean’s bag when he enters behind him.

“That was my sister, by the way.” He sets Jean’s bag by his bed, which he then plops himself onto. “She’s evil. Don’t ever go near her. Don’t even look at her.”

“Wait. Evil compared to you? Because pretty much everyone is evil compared to you.” Jean sits down next to him. ( _Oh my God I’m sitting on Marco Bodt’s bed. This is probably my best accomplishment yet._ )

“Evil compared to the average person.”

“So, like me?”

“You’re not average.”

“I’m below average, probably,” Jean says. He doesn’t really mean it in a demeaning way; it’s simply that he’s never felt that he’s done anything outstanding ever in his life.

“Above,” Marco says, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

Jean looks at him. The way the other’s lips curve makes him want to close the short distance between them and kiss him, but he decides that’s probably not the best move. Not yet, at least. He doesn’t want to ruin any chances by doing something without warning. He also doesn’t want to be a distraction to Marco leading up to nationals and, hopefully, the Olympics.

After a moment of silence, Jean asks, “Do you speak French?”

* * *

At 11:45, Marco pauses the videogame they’re currently playing. “There’s only fifteen minutes until the ball drops,” he says, changing the channel to the live coverage of the New Years event going on in New York. “I can’t believe 2013 is almost over,” he adds as an afterthought.

Jean sets his controller down, yawning. “I can’t believe I’m so tired. It’s not even that late.”

Marco leans back, staring up at the ceiling. “This is late for me. I have to get up way too early in the morning, so staying up late isn’t really a thing I can do.”

“I always thought you seemed more like a morning person.”

“I can be,” he says, “but only sort of. So long as I have coffee.”

“Then wouldn’t most people be morning people? Coffee is what helps night owls get through the day, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess it is. So, I’m not really a morning person, I have to be.”

They both go silent as all of the people on the TV begin to count down the final moments of the year. At twenty, Marco picks up counting and Jean joins in.

“Three, two, one! Happy New Year!” they both shout, grinning at each other.

They both watch as the confetti falls over all of the people. (He always felt bad for whoever gets stuck with cleaning all of it up.) He turns to Marco. “Hey, have you ever had a New Years kiss?”

Marco shakes his head. “No.”

Jean’s grin widens, though he feels a ball of nervousness in his stomach, spreading throughout his entire body. “Would you like one?”

Marco nods. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

This time, Jean really closes the distance between them, rather than only thinking about it. There’s not much that’s special to the kiss; it’s simply him firmly pressing his lips to Marco’s, with Marco doing the same back. Besides it not being a remarkable New Years make out session, Jean still feels like he’s—well, he’s not sure, even. Floating? Like an electric shock has spread throughout his body, replacing the nervous feeling, and it won’t stop tingling?

Marco pulls him back for a second kiss by grabbing onto his shirt and tugging Jean to him. This kiss is rougher, and the next thing Jean knows they’re completely intertwined with each other. They’re a mess of limbs on the floor of Marco’s bedroom, really. It probably doesn’t look as nice as it feels, but Jean was never one to care too much about appearances anyway.

Marco breaks the kiss and Jean has to stop himself from pulling him right back in. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is ruffled and sticking up in all the wrong directions (which looks so right on him). He’s breathing somewhat heavily to catch the lost breath.

“How was that for a first new years kiss?” Jean asks after a few moments.

Marco nods for a moment, “It was good,” he says breathlessly. “Really good. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First real JeanMarco action of the story! Finally. There’s still probably two or three more chapters before the real issue will even come up, so we have quite a bit to go yet. Maybe even more than three chapters until that issue evolves.
> 
> On a side note, this will probably be the only chapter this week. There’s a slight possibility that chapter five will be up by Sunday, but I won’t have any time to write besides tomorrow and Sunday. I’m actually going to be at a competition! So, I won’t be writing about skating, but I actually will be skating.


	5. Cross Strokes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute boys, dinosaur chicken, questioning sisters, and nationals. Needless to say, it's an interesting week for Jean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I’m sorry for the delay of this chapter, it was sort of difficult to write and I haven’t had much time on top of that. This chapter has dumb boys being cute and dumb, along with some pretty big advancements for said dumb boys. It also has dinosaur chicken.

Friday night, Jean gets a text from Marco.

**Marco:** i have some time from like 9 to 1 tomorrow to hang out. like we could go to jaeger café and then go see frozen or something

**Jean:** i’m up for that.

**Jean:** jaeger café? as in like eren?

**Marco:** yeah his mom owns it. they serve like the best dinosaur chicken on the planet

Jean snorts. Dinosaur chicken?

**Jean:** i haven’t had dinosaur chicken since i was like five

**Marco:** well its going to be ur breakfast tomorrow so

Jean tucks his phone in his pocket, a smile adorning his face as he makes his way downstairs.

“What are you so happy about?” one of his relatives—he’s not really sure who it is, he’s not paying enough attention—asks him.

“Nothing, nothing,” he says, heading towards the kitchen.

* * *

At nine o clock the following morning, Jean meets Marco at Jaeger Café after getting directions from him. (It’s simple to get to, really. It’s on the main road, only a few minutes from the rink.) He arrives about five minutes before Marco, so he just finds an empty booth and sits down.

To his surprise, Marco isn’t in what he’d usually wear to skating. This is only the second time Jean’s seen him in something that he doesn’t practice in, but he definitely doesn’t have a problem with it. It’s not like he’s wearing anything fancy, it’s simply jeans, a gray v-neck, and a hoodie, but it looks so good on him Jean has to run his fingers over his lips to make sure he’s not drooling.

“Hey,” Marco flashes him a smile as he slides into the booth, setting his phone on the table.

“Hi,” Jean replies. “How was skating?”

Marco shakes his head. “It’s too early in the morning—the rink is always freezing. Other than that, things where fine though.”

“Yeah, for sure never going to the rink in the morning then. I can hardly handle the weather outside.”

“This is the coldest winter we’ve had in a while, though,” Marco glances out of the windows, “It’s kind of nice actually. I missed it.”

Now Jean’s shaking his head. “I will never understand.”

Marco opens his mouth to reply, but a woman with black hair and eyes somewhere between hazel and gold is standing in front of them, a large smile plastered onto her face. She must be Eren’s mom; their features are so similar. “Good morning, boys!” She turns to Marco, “The usual?” she asks.

Marco nods. “Of course. And the same for him,” he nods to Jean. After she leaves, Marco says, “Eren’s mom.”

“I guessed. He looks way too much like her.” _Does everyone in the Jaeger family have phenomenal eyes?_ He almost asks, but decides against it.

They’re both silent for a moment until Marco abruptly says, “Oh!” and reaches for his phone.

“What?” Jean asks.

“I almost forgot to tell you when all of the events for nationals are! I’m not sure if this is the time they’ll be aired or not, but I might as well.” He taps at his phone for a few more seconds before setting it down and saying, “I sent the times to you.”

Moments later, Jean’s phone buzzes. (He knew it was coming, but the terrible sound it makes against the table still manages to startle him.)

**Marco:** Men’s: jan 10 8; jan 12 12:50

Ladies: jan 9 7:45; jan 11 7

Pairs: jan 9 4:15; jan 11 11:30

“I didn’t include the ice dance, but you should watch that, too.”

* * *

It’s a few minutes past one when Jean gets home. One of his sisters is sitting at the island in the kitchen, staring at her phone.

“Where is everyone?” he asks.

“They all went out to eat.”

“And you didn’t because…?”

She shrugs. “I’m not hungry. So, where were you?”

“Out.”

“Jean.”

“I was with Marco. Why does it matter?”

“I was curious. Calm down.”

Jean shakes his head. “No. You want something.”

“Fine, fine.” She leans against the counter, her ponytail falling over her shoulder. “Are you and him a thing or something? You’re a lot happier lately, and I’m guessing it doesn’t have to do with the below freezing temperatures.”

“I,” he pauses. “I think so. Maybe. I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Like,” he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, staring at the floor (it’s much more interesting than his sister’s face at the moment), “We kissed, but we don’t have like an official title for what we are or whatever. I kind of think it’s a bad idea, with all he has going on. And said kiss hasn’t been brought up since it happened, either. So I have no idea.”

She nods. “That’s the feeling I was getting from you.”

He tilts his head, his eyes meeting hers. “Really? How?”

“Really. I don’t know how. Intuition, I suppose.” She presses a finger to her lip, thinking. “Have you told him?”

“Told him what?”

Her eyebrows raise.

“No,” he sighs. “No, I haven’t. There’s no point, since it’s not really a thing anymore.”

“Jean, you never know when it’ll happen.”

“It hasn’t recently, alright? So I’m not going to bring it up. Again, he has a lot going on. It would only worry him.”

“Okay, okay. No need to get so defensive.” She puts her hands up in an _I surrender_ motion, “But be careful, okay? I don’t want a call saying my little brother died in the hospital.”

He nods. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

* * *

Marco was right about nationals not being televised live. And Jean never bothered to look up proper times, figuring he could probably find it online somewhere. And everyone else’s events he who he knows was there should be online somewhere, too. (Which, now that he thinks about it, is a lot. He knows, what? At least eight people competing there. Although one is a pair. So that’s seven short programs and seven long programs to watch.

On second thought, he should have looked up the TV schedule.)

Instead, he waits for the Olympic team to be announced. He’s refreshing the page every few seconds until it finally pops up. He scans for the names for his friends, coming across Mina first, then Eren and Mikasa, and finally Marco.

He stares at the names for a while, letting it sink in. His phone buzzes, not failing to startle him again.

**Marco:** looks like you’ve got yourself a boyfriend that’s going to the olympics!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some interesting stuff this chapter. As a heads up, the following two to eight chapters are going to be different than the past five have been. I’m not going to say the focus of these chapters directly, but it’ll give you a chance to get to know more about the characters in the story. A new chapter should hopefully be up within the upcoming week.


	6. Axels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s nearing the end of January and Jean’s not sure if he can survive the rest of this winter. Yet, there he is, sitting in the rink next to Armin, watching Marco and the others as they get ready for the biggest moment of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! So, as I mentioned, we’re entering a new part of the story. You’re finally getting to know more about the characters, and it so happens to be the Shiganshina trio this time around. As a side note, Armin is telling all of these stories that you’ll see in the upcoming chapters unless otherwise stated. Even if he’s not in the memory he’s talking about, he obviously knows about it somehow. As I said, this chapter is mainly our lovely Shiganshina trio, and it’s about them getting into skating and then a couple short drabble things of then to when they’re about twelve.
> 
> One last thing. The point of these memories and flashbacks or whatever you wish to call them is to get to know the characters better, but I also want to show you other parts of figure skating you wouldn’t normally see. You’ll get to see what is basically the behind the scenes of the sport. The side of the sport that isn’t competitive, the testing, what competitions are like, and so on. This chapter doesn’t get too much into it, but the upcoming few will.

It’s nearing the end of January and Jean’s not sure if he can survive the rest of this winter. Yet, there he is, sitting in the rink next to Armin, watching Marco and the others as they get ready for the biggest moment of their lives.

“Armin?”

“Yeah?” Armin glances at him. He’s been zoning out for the past twenty minutes or so, staring off into space (or more so, the ceiling of the rink).

“You okay?” Jean asks, sneaking a look out of the corner of his eye to see Marco do a perfect triple flip.

“Yeah,” he says, his own eyes following Marco. “Well, no.”

“Um, do you wanna talk about it or something?” Jean swallows—oh God, he can’t handle when people are upset. It’s like his mind completely shuts down and he forgets how to properly use words. It also happens when he’s around incredibly attractive people, such as Marco. (Though he’s been getting better around Marco! He thinks, at least.)

Armin hesitates. He opens his mouth, then closes it, only to open it again. He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, actually. That would be nice. But, it’s going to be long, alright?”

“That’s fine.”

“Okay, here we go,” he says.

* * *

Four year old Mikasa Ackerman stands proudly in front of the TV, pointing at the screen. “I want to do that!” She announces to the room.

“You want to be a figure skater?” her mother asks, a soft smile on her face.

Mikasa nods.

Eren tilts his head as he looks from her to the screen. After a moment, he pops up. “I’ll do it too!” he says. Mikasa gives him an accusing look of _you stole my idea,_ so he quickly adds, “To protect Mikasa! What if she falls?”

“You would fall with her,” Armin says matter of factly.

“Would not!” Eren argues, a pout on his face.

Before Armin can respond, Carla speaks up. “Actually, it would be great if we could get all three of you into skating, wouldn’t it?”

So the following week, the three children are signed up for Learn to Skate at their local rink. Mikasa’s a natural, easily taking to the ice. They quickly move her from Snowplow Sam to Basic One with the older kids, and even then she’s flying through the levels. Eren’s a little powerhouse, but he’s struggling with the elements. And Armin’s still getting used to balancing on blades rather than his own two feet.

It’s not until a year later that the three kids make it through Basic Eight and get into private lessons. All three of them have Petra as their coach—a young college student with strawberry blonde hair.

By the time they’re all nine years old, Petra’s graduated and moved away, leaving the three kids to other coaches. It’s evident that they’ll be sticking around for a long time, and while they’re not the older kids, it’s not like they’re low level either. They luck out and manage to get the best of the professional coaches at the rink, Levi and Hanji. Levi coaches Eren and Mikasa while Hanji works with Armin.

* * *

“I think my knee is at least the size of Pluto,” a now eleven year old Mikasa says as she dries one of her blades with a towel. “I hate double salchows so much.”

“You’re literally the only person I know who hates double sals,” Eren says as he unlaces his skates.  “They’re easy.”

“It’s not that they’re not easy, it’s simply that Levi makes me do it so many times over that my leg gets too tired to support my weight.”

“Isn’t that because you’re not getting two full rotations though?” Armin’s pushing one of his skates into his zuca bag as he watches Mikasa pull the soaker over her blade.

“I do most of the time! But not enough, according to Levi.” She sighs. “Ugh, I need to have it for this competition! There’s no way I’ll get first place if I don’t have it.”

“You’re not going to get first every time,” Mina pipes up. “Take it from the lefty, even if you do it perfectly, you might not get first. You’re at that point now with skating.” She’s a level ahead of Mikasa currently, and also so happens to be gearing up for said competition.

Mikasa pulls her skate off, leaning it against her zuca. “Yeah, I know. But I have a better chance if I can land it.”

“That’s true,” Mina says, standing up.

* * *

Twelve year old Eren slams hard into the ice, a groan escaping his throat when he rolls onto his back.

Armin stops beside him, leaning down towards him. “Are you okay?” he asks, looking somewhere between concerned and amused.

“Yeah,” Eren sits up. “Oh God, I hate axels. I’ve had it for what, three years? And it still kills me to do it.” He grabs Armin’s hand and pulls himself up. “Thanks.”

“Of course. What’s your issue with axels?”

“They suck.”

“No, I mean, why do you still struggle with it?”

“I focus too much on what my legs need to do and forget that my arms help with the rotation. It’s something I’m still working on, I guess,” he doesn’t look happy about it as he says the final statement, but all he can do is keep working until it gets easier or he doesn’t fall as much.

* * *

“I think I need new skates,” Eren says one day as he and Mikasa rush down the hall, attempting to get to their first hour on time. “My feet grew again.”

“Your mom’s going to kill you,” Mikasa sounds amused.

“Yeah, I know. But it’s not like I can tell my feet to stop growing. Maybe I won’t tell her.”

“But that’s uncomfortable for you. Also, it makes skating in general harder, and then you have to wait longer to get new skates and break them in and it would be better to do that while we’re not in the middle of competition season.”

They cross the threshold as the final bell rings and they both sigh with relief. Another tardy and then they would both be stuck in detention, which cuts into skating. Which would then cause a not so happy Levi, and therefore a not so happy Eren and Mikasa.

“So I guess I have to tell her,” Eren whispers as they make their way to their seats. He looks absolutely terrified.

* * *

“Eren, Mikasa.”

The two glance Levi’s way as he skates towards them. Eren’s brows furrow— _are we in trouble?_ But then he notices Hanji trailing along behind him.

Before Levi even opens his mouth, Hanji nearly yells, “What would you two think if Levi and I paired you up to ice dance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure how it works in other countries, but in the USA we have the Basic Skills/Learn to Skate program, which is what was mentioned earlier. There are three levels for young kids called Snowplow Sam, and then there’s basic one through eight. After that, you get into the higher levels where you have two tests for each level (moves in the field and freestyle), which I think I’ve mentioned before. 
> 
> Zuca bags are what figure skaters (in the USA, as far as I know. Again, I’m not sure if this is a thing in other countries or not. Though not every skater in the USA uses these, either.) use to carry their skates around in, and it has room for you to put your music, skate guards, towel to dry and clean your blades, gloves, and a bunch of stuff really. They’re really nice.
> 
> I think that’s all. I know, this chapter was definitely not super interesting, but it’s important to know what was in this chapter for future chapters.


	7. Loops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shenanigans ensure when you put all of the older figure skaters in the club to work during a competition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys get to see what it’s like to work during a basic skills competition! This is pretty accurate, at least with my club.

Marco stops himself with his toe picks as he stares with wide eyes at nothing in particular. After a moment, he looks as his coach, whose lips are stretched into the widest smile he’s ever seen. “You landed it! You landed your double loop! Oh, Marco, I’m so proud!”

Marco smiles himself, feeling pretty proud. He’s been falling on his butt for months with this jump or not getting two full revolutions.

“Do it again.”

And he lands it a second time. And a third. And a fourth.

He eventually loses count of how many times he lands it. (Also, his legs are starting to hurt from all of the jumping.)

“Alright, so it seems you’ve got it!” Hanji’s beaming. “Keep on working on it, though, or else you might lose it.” She glances at the clock. “Before you go, I have a question. Do you want to help out with the upcoming basic skills competition? We need runners, and you’re definitely too high level to compete.”

Marco nods, “Yeah, I’d love to! It was a lot of fun last year.”

“And one more thing. Would you be willing to bring Mina hot chocolate since she’s going to be ice monitor?”

* * *

“Thank you, my fingers are _freezing_ ,” Mina says, bringing the steaming cup of hot chocolate to her lips.

“Of course,” Marco replies, “I’ll come back and check on you in a half an hour, ‘kay?” He winks at her and smiles when he catches the slight blush on her cheeks out of the corner of his eye as he turns. (Well, he thinks so, anyway. Her cheeks were already pretty red from being in the cold for so long. Either way, she smiled at him.)

Marco heads back to the judges room, making his way to the printer. Sasha walks past him and nearly sings, “Stop wasting time flirting with Mina! The basic four kids are getting upset waiting for results!”

“You can take the results down, you know,” he says, collecting the sheets, “Also, the basic five kids are waiting too.”

“I’m going to take a break and eat.”

“But that’s food for the judges.”

“Since when have I cared?” she asks grabbing a bowl and filling it with mac and cheese, “Besides, there aren’t any judges in here.”

Marco rolls his eyes despite the smile on his face and leaves the room.

“—pretty sure that was Petra,” Eren says as he follows Mikasa into the room, moments after Marco’s departure.

“I didn’t see her.”

Eren shrugs. “If I see her again I’ll say something, I guess.”

“Have you guys seen Connie?” Sasha asks.

They both shake their heads. Eren frowns as he looks at the food. “Did you seriously eat the last of the mac and cheese?”

“I’m still working on it, but yes,” Sasha smiles.

Eren grabs a fork from the table and heads over to her, taking a bite from her bowl. “Maybe I’ll call my mom and tell her we need more.”

Sasha pouts, but continues eating. “Was that necessary?”

“Completely,” he says, grinning. Mikasa punches his arm.

“Are you going down there to get results from the judges or am I?” She asks.

“I’ll get one side of the rink, you get the other,” Eren replies.

As they leave the room, Connie comes stumbling in, looking somewhat flustered. “They mobbed me, Sasha. _Mobbed me._ ”

She studies him for a long moment with an amused look before laughing, “Oh God, I can’t believe you let a bunch of little kids mob you.”

“They’re scary when they’re waiting for results, okay?” Connie glances at the bowl of mac and cheese sitting in front of the brunette. “That’s the last of it, isn’t it?”

“Why is everyone acting like I ate all of it?” She exclaims, “This is the first bowl I’ve had! This is the first thing I’ve even eaten today!”

Connie puts his hands up. “I don’t think anyone cares that much, calm down.” He leans over, reaching for her fork, but she slaps his hand away.

“I don’t think so,” she says, stabbing the last few noodles rather violently with the plastic fork (which almost breaks in half from the force she puts into it).

* * *

Marco manages to part the sea of small children waiting in front of the wall where results are posted to put up basic four and fives’ results. One thing he’s come to hate about being a runner in the past years is that, while he hears kids yelling happily over their first place victories, he’s seen too many tears and heard too many sobs from the kids who don’t place on the podium. It’s only a basic skills competition, but it still hurts to not place well.

* * *

“Do you start from the top or the bottom when you’re looking at results?” Sasha asks as she watches the Zamboni move across the ice.

“Top,” Mikasa says.

“That’s because you’re used to getting first,” Sasha grins. “I start from the top too, usually.”

“I start from the bottom,” Eren says. “That’s way it’s not so disappointing if I’m not in first.”

Mina nods, “That’s what I do too,” she says, her fingers wrapped around the cup of hot chocolate Marco had brought her right before the ice make began.

“For me, it depends on how well I skated,” Marco says.

Connie shrugs as he leans back in his chair, “I start from the bottom.”

Hanji is suddenly at the head of their table, a somewhat terrifying smile on her face. She claps her hands together, “I’m recommend leaving the room for a bit, since it’s the judges’ room and if Levi sees you in here when all of the judges are here, he will kill you. And possibly me, not that I’d let him.”

Everyone groans collectively, but they all get up anyway and head out of the room. Mina sighs as they walk down the hallway. “It was warm in there.”

“I’m sure the club room’s heated today,” Marco says, “We can all hang out there for a while.”

Behind him, Sasha mutters, “You two should get a room already,” and he blushes. (He notices she does too, which makes him smile as they continue down the hallway.

“It’s going to be covered in glitter though. I want to avoid that,” Eren says.

The club room is surprisingly quiet and also lacking small children. (There’s still glitter everywhere.) What they do find is Armin reading in the corner, his feet crossed on his zuca. He glances up when the door opens, “Hey.”

There’s a chorus of greetings as everyone heads to their spots. Which really, they aren’t spots, but everyone has an area they generally sit in when they’re in the club room and plenty of fights have come about from spot stealing.

“How much longer until this is over?” Sasha leans against the wall, yawning.

“Another hour,” Armin says.

“That’s not bad, I guess,” Eren pushes at his zuca with his foot. “You guys are all staying for public skate tonight, right?”

“Might as well, we all have to help clean up and by the time that’s over public skate will be starting,” Mina’s digging around in the pockets of her zuca for a pair of gloves that don’t have holes. She’s going to need all of the warmth she can get if she wants to survive the last hour.

“Can I sleep instead of do things?” Sasha says after a moment of silence.

“You know what we could do during public skate? Or afterwards,” Marco’s grinning as he speaks.

“What?”

“Glow in the dark hide and seek.”

“Yes!” Sasha pops up. “We haven’t played that in a while! And I have my old guards that glow in the dark so we can use those!”

“You know what’s weird?” Connie says as he watches Sasha. “That things that glow in the dark glow _green_. Why not the color they are? Like your guard aren’t green. It’s so weird.”

“That doesn’t even matter because _glow in the dark hide and seek_ ,” Sasha grins at him. “Marco, you should be it first, since you suggested it.”

Marco nods, “Fine with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the parents have meetings and we’re stuck at the rink for a while, we play glow in the dark hide and seek. At least, that’s the old name. We all used to have skate guards that glowed in the dark but everyone has gotten new ones since, so now we use phones and set them up in the corner of the room. Basically, everyone hides as well as they can in the club room and the person whose it has to find everyone with that small amount of light from the corner of the room.
> 
> Ice monitors are pretty much what the name implies. Coaches check in their students before they compete with the ice monitor. Runners are the one who get results and post them.
> 
> And I’m (somewhat) sorry for the marcomina. I promise the jeanmarco will be back soon enough.


	8. Brackets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The remainder of January convinces Jean he won’t make it to the end of the school year. He’ll be a Jeansicle before Marco even leaves for Sochi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no update. But I said I would finish this even if it takes me years. (Also because this story holds a pretty special place in my heart for me to be updating it even though I’m not all that into snk anymore.) This chapter gets more into Armin’s past, as well as Jean’s. Both of these stories are important to them, as it’ll be shaping a lot of the future chapters (especially Jean’s story).

Jean leans back in his seat, this eyes returning to Armin when he finishes speaking. “Wait,” he says, “what’s wrong then?”

                Armin swallows hard, “I’m getting to it. But. It’s hard to talk about.” His eyes are hard—they typically hold a soft, caring look that could make someone believe he’s an angel. But instead he looked… dead inside, or maybe murderous. Jean couldn’t tell which.

                “You don’t have to.”

                “I want to,” Armin says. “I haven’t really talked much about it. It’s come up, but everyone here was with me through it.”

                Jean’s not sure how to take that. Was that good or bad, that he’s an outsider? Did Armin feel obligated to tell him because he hasn’t been around for all of these important moments? Or was it because Armin wanted to talk to someone who hadn’t experienced it already? Whatever ‘it’ was.

                “Okay,” Armin says, “I’m ready.”

* * *

 

                Boston. Armin was in love with the city, as were is parents. And to have a competition there? He was beyond happy at the time. There was so much history. And while he had read about it, seeing where it happened— _being_ where it happened, was completely different.

                His parents were excited too. They had even agreed to spending an extra week after the competition to explore the city.

                The competition itself had gone pretty well. He placed second overall in his event. The day following, Eren and Mikasa left to head back to Michigan. They told Armin to send pictures during his mini vacation and he happily agreed to doing so, and started sending pictures before they even retuned home.

                He would almost say the week following was more exhilarating than the actual competition. But the last day wasn’t so great.

* * *

 

                “Our plane crashed,” Armin says. His voice is soft and Jean has to lean closer to hear him over the sound of Mina’s music for her short program. “It was bad. Really bad. Almost everyone died.” He seems far off, lost in the memory. “My parents included. Neither of them made it. They died as soon as we crashed, or that’s what I was told. I woke up in a hospital with my grandfather hovering over me.”

                He pauses, glancing at Jean. “They told me I would never be able to skate again. Walk, too, but I can move fine after a few years of therapy. Do you know what that’s like?”

                Silence.

                Jean doesn’t know what to say. And then, he’s speaking. Words are slipping through without his permission. “I do know, Armin, believe me. And I’m really sorry.”

                Armin stares, confused. “You understand? What? How? Aren’t both of your parents—?”

                Jean shakes his head, “No, no. The not being able to do anything. That’s been my entire life.”

                Armin doesn’t talk. Instead, he waits for Jean to continue.

                “I was really sickly as a kid. I spent more time in the hospital than at home or school. I could hardly walk. I had about a two percent chance of surviving to the age of five. Chances of me living to eighteen have gone up significantly, but I still have at least a sixty percent chance of not making it. I’ve had a few up times. When I was eight until I was ten I could actually go to school most days, but I usually had an oxygen tank. It got bad again when I was eleven, though. I finally could start going to school again at fifteen, but…” he has to pause to collect himself. This _shouldn’t_ be the hardest part to talk about, but it is. “I met a girl that year. We got really close. Last summer, a few months before I moved here, we got into a pretty nasty car accident. I somehow survived, she didn’t.”

                He shrugs. “My entire life has had negative statistics placed on it yet I’m always the one who lives. It’ll be a fun day when my luck runs out.”

                “When’s your birthday?” Armin asks slowly, “You’re seventeen?”

                “April seventh. And yeah.”

                “That’s only a few months away.”

                “It is,” Jean replies. He feels sick. He shouldn’t have brought this up. He never meant for it to come up. In fact, he meant to separate himself from his past as much as possible when his family made the move to Michigan.

                Yet here he is, getting into the shitty story about his shitty life thanks to his shitty lungs. He couldn’t stand it.

                Neither of them say anything for the rest of the session. When the buzzer sounds, signaling time for the skaters to get off, Jean says, “My chances of relapsing before are over eighty percent before the time I turn eighteen.”

* * *

 

                The remainder of January convinces Jean he won’t make it to the end of the school year. He’ll be a Jeansicle before Marco even leaves for Sochi.

                Seeing Marco becomes a rare experience, as he’s constantly on the ice. Jean doesn’t mind.

                Okay, so maybe he does a tiny bit.

                But it’s the coolest opportunity Jean has ever seen or been close to touching. It’s something he would never be able to accomplish. (And really, even if he had gotten the privilege of a healthy childhood, he honestly would’ve focused much more on his music career.)

                Which, recently, he has been doing. With all of the free time on his hands due to Marco’s absence, he’s been spending a lot of time playing guitar again. He wishes he could get his hands on a piano, but the only one he’s even seen was at Marco’s house (read: Marco’s huge ass mansion). He’s heard there’s one at the school, but he prefers to not stick around that building after school.

                He’s also been working bit by bit on vocals. It’s been getting hard though. He always finds himself breathless after a few songs. He feels as if he should mention this to someone, but he doesn’t feel like hanging out in the hospital nonstop again.

                Which brings him to another problem: Marco.

                He’ll have to tell Marco sometime about what’s going on. Obviously, he can’t do it now because of the Olympics coming so soon. He doesn’t want to throw him off right before one of the biggest moments of his life.

                And afterwards? If he does well at the competition, he’ll probably be travelling constantly and gearing up for the grand prix already.

                He groans into his pillow late one Friday night, wishing he could simply get this over with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry is probably the only appropriate thing to say if you can see where this is headed. Thank you for reading!


	9. Flips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can hear his heart pumping all too quickly in his chest, he can tell that he’s breathing too heavily, and he feels a little sweaty (which is gross but whatever, he decides).

 

February comes around and Marco asks Jean to come over one last time before he leaves for Sochi.

**Jean:** is that really okay? you need to focus and im not gonna be any help w that

**Marco:** im gonna be packing so like dont worry about it. i need a little distraction ;)

Jean chokes a little on the air when he sees the winky face but decided it’s probably best to not really read into it. He’s going to be packing. To travel to another country. For a competition. The biggest competition of his life. The whole world will be watching him.

**Jean:** okay okay what time

**Marco:** like eight

* * *

 

Jean shows up to Marco’s house (read: huge ass mansion) at 7:59 PM. He takes a deep breath, feeling much better about being a minute early rather than five.

He pops out of his car (well, his mom’s car) and locks it, although he supposes there’s nothing of value in it and he’s in a rich, gated community. Who would steal anything of his anyways? He heads to the front door and rings the bell.

The door swings open and Marco’s mother stands there, a large smile crossing her face. “Hello Jean! Come in, come in!” She steps back and swings her arm to present the inside of the house. “Marco!” she calls, “Jean is here!”

There’s a quick tapping as Marco makes his way down the gigantic staircase. Jean smiles, but he worries at how absolutely exhausted Marco looks. “Hey,” Marco says and Jean wants to tell him to go bed. He even sounds exhausted.

“Hi.”

He waves, “Let’s go upstairs. You’re gonna help me pack.”

Jean follows his tired and freckled crush up the massive staircase. He’s still amazed at how  _ huge  _ Marco’s house is. Even if he would have lived here his entire life, he knows he would still get lost on a daily basis. The pass Marco’s sister again. She waltzes right past the two boys, workout clothes on and earbuds in. 

Marco sighs after she passes, opening the door to his bedroom. “I wish she would move out already.”

“Whoa there, slow down. That’s the meanest thing I think you’ve ever said,” Jean laughs a bit as he follows Marco into his room.

“I can be mean,” Marco says, “but you have to actually be on my bad side.”

“And what do you have to do to be on your bad side?” Jean asks, glancing around Marco’s room. It’s actually kind of messy compared to last time; there’s clothes strewn across his floor, his bed is unmade, his gaming system is pushed into the corner of his room in a mess of cords. 

“Um, a lot.”

“Solid answer,” Jean says. “Okay, what should I pack for you?” He turns around and stares at the tired boy. 

Marco shakes his head, closing the door. “I changed my mind. We’re not actually going to pack.”

Jean’s heart beats quickly in his chest. “Then what are we-?”

Marco runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He closes the few feet between them and crashes his lips against Jean’s. Jean makes a shocked sound and Marco continues to push him back until he’s pinned against the wall. His lips are rough and chapped from spending so much time in the cold, especially recently. Jean doesn’t really know what to with his hands at this point. He and Marco had only really kissed on New Years, and besides that he’s only kissed girls. In this situation he’s usually the one pressing the other person against the wall, and otherwise his hands would rest on her waist. But with a guy, where do his hands go?

_ His dick. _

Jean snorts and Marco pulls away, a confused look crossing his face. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no,” Jean laughs. “I was having one of my usual internal struggles trying to decide where to put my hands and my brain was like ‘go for his dick’.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind. Although…” Marco’s voice trails off and he looks deep in thought.

“Although?”

“I’ve never done stuff with a guy.”

Jean clears his throat. “I haven’t either.” There’s a silence where the two stare at each other and then Jean asks, “Are you a virgin? Wait, shit. Sorry, I sound like a fuckboy.”

Marco laughs but shakes his head. “I’m not. Um, I mean, you know her… Mina.”

“You had sex with Mina?”

“Like, um, two years ago we dated. Since we were like kind of famous or whatever the seniors that year invited us to a huge party. Everyone in the club got the night off and we went. Mina and I got a little drunk and yeah. We broke up not long after. She’s one of the few people on my bad side,” he laughs, although it sounds bitter, “but it’s best not to get into that. What about you?”

“Ahh, no, I’m not either. She was my girlfriend all of last year and. Yeah. That’s pretty much it.”

Marco stares at him, “What happened? You’re holding back.”

“How do you know?” Jean questions. “But um. In August, we got into an accident. I survived, she didn’t.”

“Oh. Oh, Jean, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t worry about it! I’m fine! I promise. Although, I do have a question. Remember that time you said you were my boyfriend?”

Marco nods, leaning closer to Jean. He rests his forehead against the other boy’s. “What about it? I know we haven’t really gone on any dates yet but as soon as I get home we will.”

“I’m glad to hear that but, are we like, official then?” Jean holds his breath, which probably isn’t smart, but he can feel the butterflies tickling the inside of his stomach.

“I would like to be. But um, nothing in public yet. Not until after because… Russia has strict anti-gay laws. I don’t want that to interfere or anything. Not that I don’t want to show you off! But I want to be able to compete and I don’t want to get hurt or-”

“Hey, you can stop rambling. I’m okay with that. I would rather you be safe than show me off any day.”

“Thank you,” Marco smiles and Jean swears the whole room lights up.

“Now, why don’t you tell me why you would rather make out with me than pack for the most important competition of your life?”

Marco grabs Jean’s hand and leads him to his unmade bed. The two sit down, the bed squeaking in protest beneath them. “I’m really stressed. And tired. And you make me feel happy again.”

Jean smiles a little. “Well, if that’s why, then I’m definitely okay with an intense make out session.”

“What if we did more?”

“I don’t know…” Jean’s voice trails off as he looks away from Marco. It’s not that he doesn’t want to at all, but more like he hasn’t told Marco about his  _ condition  _ yet, and he also doesn’t have his inhaler on him. Not to mention that even if he did, it would be kind of really embarrassing to have to use an inhaler during or after sex.

“We don’t have to!” Marco puts his hands up, “I don’t want to push you. I’m frustrated is all. And I can usually take it out on the ice but it’s not working this time so I’m lost.”

Jean snorts again, “You want to literally pound your frustrations into me.”

“You could’ve worded it more elegantly but yeah,” Marco laughs, laying back on his bed.

“You’re the elegant one between the two of us,” Jean replies, laying down as well.

The room is silent for a while save for the two boys’ breathing. Finally, Marco says, “We could, like, turn our bodies the other way on the bed so our legs aren’t hanging off.”

“But they always said in sex ed to not lay down with another person properly on a bed because it sends the sex signal to your brain,” Jean remarks as the two readjust.

“Did they seriously tell you that?” Marco asks.

“Mm, they did.”

This time Marco snorts, “That’s the worst thing I have ever heard.” He pauses and sits up, glancing down at Jean.

“What?”

Marco pulls Jean closer to the center of the bed and then climbs over him, somewhat awkwardly, so he’s straddling him. “This is much better.”

Jean avoids all eye contact with Marco, his face flushing to a bright red. He can’t decide if it’s more embarrassing the first time a girl feels your boner or the first time a guy does. He feels fingertips on his chin, redirecting his attention to Marco’s face. His freckled (boy)friend’s eyes are glazed over and completely focused on Jean. He swallows hard.

“Is this okay?” Marco asks. His focus is unwavering, his hands pressing hard against his mattress to keep him steady.

“I-it’s fine,” Jean stutters out, realizing what a nervous wreck he is. Maybe it’s not because of his condition, but instead because he’s never been in this position before. He’s usually where Marco is. He can hear his heart pumping all too quickly in his chest, he can tell that he’s breathing too heavily, and he feels a little sweaty (which is gross but whatever, he decides).

“What about this?” Marco’s fingers push Jean’s shirt up above his stomach and trail down slowly. His touch is soft yet firm and Jean can’t help but squirm a little beneath him. Before Jean has a chance to answer, Marco’s lips are against his again, a tongue violently forcing its way into his mouth.

The door crashes open and the two both pull out of the kiss, surprised. Marco’s fingers, however, stay hooked on Jean’s pants. Marco’s sister stands in the doorway, a grimace on her face. “Gross.” Jean turns his head towards the wall to avoid making eye contact with her.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Emilia? You couldn’t, I don’t know, knock?” Marco nearly hisses.

“You said you were packing,” she says, sounding annoyed. “Anyways, is this all you do then? ‘Pack’?”

Marco releases an annoyed sigh. “I don’t know Emila, maybe I’m a teenage guy who’s horny, like, all the fucking time. Please leave.”

“Whatever,” his sister backs out of his room. “Lock your next time maybe,” and the door closes.

Jean glances up at Marco, who looks pissed. The enraged gaze falls onto Jean and he shudders. “Not to be abrupt, but every time I said fuck,” he pauses, an airy laugh escaping his mouth, “I can feel your dick twitch. Is it really that nice?”

“You’re hot when you’re angry,” Jean blurts out.

“Well, it doesn’t happen very often.”

Jean doesn’t reply, and instead studies the other boy’s face. Despite his anger, he can see how tired he is, especially now that he’s this close. He can see Marco’s gaze begin to soften and melt back into his usual, gentle gaze. And then he sees something else - a look he’s only seen in Marco’s eyes when he’s on the ice. The only way he can really describe it is mischievous. And then he feels why because Marco moves his hips - only slightly, but enough to make Jean gasp. “Okay, but like, fuck you, I wasn’t ready,” Jean says, feeling a little breathless even though the action was so small.

“Isn’t that the goal?” Marco whispers into Jean’s ear.

Jean’s back arches when Marco’s teeth graze his ear. “Fuck, this isn’t fair. I’m usually the one doing the teasing…”

“Not this time,” Marco hovers above him again, a huge grin on his face. “After all, you won’t be able to walk properly once I’m done with you.”

“Marco…” Jean bites his lip, “I’m not-”

“Ready,” Marco nods, “I know. We won’t until you are. But it  _ is _ fun messing with you. You get so flustered!”

“I do not!”

“If only you could see how red your face is right now, Jean.”

Jean pulls Marco down for another kiss. “I’m not flustered,” he nearly growls in between the rather aggressive kisses. Jean flips them over so he’s on top. He runs a hand through his hair to keep it out of the way. “For the Olympics,” he says, “your outfits. Where do they cover?”

Marco points to his collarbone. “Both of them end about here, why?”

“Sit up.”

Marco, confused, does as he’s told. Jean pulls the other boy’s shirt off and pushes him back down against the bed. And then he attacks the boy’s chest, leaving deep bite marks behind. His tongue flicks over the last mark and then he sits back up, admiring his work.

“I guess I’m not going to be able to take my shirt off during off ice training now,” Marco says, breathlessly, “but worth it.”

Marco glances over at the clock on his bedside table. It’s getting kind of late, but he decides it’s okay in this situation. Jean collapses on the bed beside him and the two boys laugh breathlessly. “I think that’s enough to hold me over,” Marco laughs.

“Me too,” Jean replies. “It’s getting kind of late. I should go and let you sleep. You look tired.”

“I am. I wouldn’t mind if you stayed the night but that’s probably not allowed.”

“Probably not.”

Marco faces Jean and presses another kiss, although this time soft, to his lips. “Can I say something crazy?”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“I love you.”


	10. Biellmann

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Behind his mother’s messy bun, he can’t really see anything outside. It’s completely dark out and it’s only what, seven o clock? But he can see his own reflection. And for once, he doesn’t look like shit after being stuck in the hospital all day.

The following day is the usual whirlwind beginning at 3:00 AM with Marco’s alarm blaring throughout his room. He rolls over with a loud groan of protest, his hand searching his bedside table for the culprit of annoying tone. Finally he comes across his phone and unlocks it, turning off the alarm. The brightness hurts his eyes and he squints. 3:01. He sits up and stretches, another groan escaping as he leans to turn on the lamp.

He slowly pushes himself out of bed, setting his phone down on his bedside table once again. He stumbles around his room to grab his clothes for the morning, although it’s so messy he doesn’t know if he has anything clean. Which irks him, considering he  _ always  _ keeps his room as tidy as possible. But with his current schedule… it’s more rigorous than anything else he’s put himself through, figure skating or otherwise.

He pads through the dark hallway, the marble cold against his bare feet. He pushes the bathroom door open, a yawn emitting from his mouth. He shudders a little; he can’t stand the taste of his mouth in the morning. He sets his clothes on the counter and quickly brushes his teeth to rid of the putrid taste (and smell, too).

He turns on the shower, letting the water run over his hand as he adjusts the temperature. Once warm, he checks the bathroom for everything he needs: a towel, his razor (he’s pro at shaving in the shower without a mirror at this point), and his phone.

He throws his head back, releasing a loud groan and grumbles as he hurries back to his room. He’s probably going to be a few minutes late to practice now, which isn’t something he can currently afford, and he also doesn’t want to put up with Levi’s disapproving glares.

He nearly runs back to bathroom after retrieving his phone, quickly setting and starting a five minute timer. He strips off his underwear and jumps into the shower, sighing softly when the hot water hits his back. But he can’t stand here for hours even though he would like to. No, he has to quickly rush through washing his hair and body as well as shaving (granted, he doesn’t really grow much facial hair, which he’s actually thankful for. It doesn’t suit him anyways).

He finishes rinsing out his hair when the timer sounds. He turns off the water and grabs his towel, drying himself as quickly as possible while stepping out of the shower. He stops the shrill alarm on his phone from sounding and starts pulling on his clothes. 

With one more ruffle of his hair with a towel, he heads from the bathroom to downstairs.

_ 3:14 AM. _

He grabs a granola bar, his zuca bag, and his car keys and silently heads to his car.

Today was Tuesday, meaning his schedule was killer. He mentally goes over the day, trying not to cringe at the lack of time to pack (which he really should have done last night…)

_ 3:30 AM - 3:50 AM Stretch _

_ 4:00 AM - 6:00 AM Morning Warm Up - On Ice Training _

_ 6:00 AM - 8:00 AM Footwork / MIF _

_ 8:00 AM - 10:00 AM Break _

_ 10:00 AM - 12:00 PM Off Ice Training _

_ 12:00 PM - 12:30 PM Jumps _

_ 12:30 PM - 1:00 PM Spins _

_ 1:00 PM - 2:00 PM Short Program _

_ 2:00 PM - 4:00 PM Break _

_ 5:00 PM - 7:00 PM Long Program _

_ 7:00 PM - 8:00 PM Cool Down _

He shared this schedule with a couple other skaters, like Mina and Sasha. Eren and Mikasa followed a different schedule, since they were a pair and not singles skaters. If he was remembering right, everything from 3:30 AM to 8:00 AM was with them, but then instead of a break they had their off ice training and then a break. After that the schedule was the same, but on a different sheet of ice.

* * *

Jean wakes up at 6:30 on the dot. His entire body is sore and  _ freezing _ , and it’s definitely not because of the temperature outside. They keep the house pretty warm and he’s curled into a burrito blanket. He struggles to uncurl himself, partly because it’s really fucking tightly wrapped around him. The other part is being under oxygenated. He hasn’t woken up feeling like this in a long time and he can feel the bubbling worry and panic rising in his throat.

He manages to snatch his phone from his bedside table. For good measure, he sends a snapchat to Marco of himself in his burrito blanket thing. He’s probably on the ice, but maybe it’ll make him smile once he’s on a break. Then, he sends a text to his mom, reluctantly asking for help because  _ I can’t breathe again. _

Seconds later his bedroom door slams open and his mother rushes into the room, his older sister (by three years) trailing closely behind. He sends a cheepish smile their way. “Hi,” he manages to muster. Yeah, he really can feel the lack of oxygen. His mother and sister say nothing and instead get to work unwrapping him from his burrito blanket. Once he’s escaped, he begins shivering. His mother helps him sit up while his sister digs around his closet for clothes for him to put on. And then it’ll be off to the hospital. Jean would sigh, if he, you know, had the lung capacity to do it.

“I’ll call you in for school,” his sister says while his mother helps him slide on his pants.

He feels like he should be embarrassed but… this has been his whole life. He’s unphased at this point. He manages to shrug on his own shirt, though.

* * *

8:00 AM rolls around and Marco finally gets to sit down and pull his skates off. He stretches his legs out, reaching into his zuca for his phone.

He has a snapchat from Jean from about an hour and a half ago. He opens it and chuckles at his boyfriend, wrapped comfily in his bed sheets. Marco wishes he could do the same, or better yet, be cuddled up  _ with  _ his boyfriend in the warmth.

He replies with a picture of his skates laying on the cold floor of the club room with the caption  _ freedom. _

He slips on his real shoes and hastily stuffs his skates back into his zuca after placing his soakers on his blades. He grabs his car keys and heads for the door.

“Where are you going?” Sasha questions. Mina glances up from her phone to Marco, then quickly redirects her attention elsewhere. 

“I’m getting food. Wanna come with?”

* * *

For once in his life, Jean is grateful for his mother. Before their big move across the country, she had his old doctor set everything up with a local doctor in their new town. This meant he could skip over the slow chaos of the emergency room and immediately see the doctor. He had met him once before as a sort of check up and get to know appointment when they first moved.

He’s currently set up in a (not so comfortable) hospital bed with at least a dozen machines hooked up to him. His doctor isn’t in the room when his phone buzzes beside him, so he takes the opportunity to check it. It’s a snapchat from Marco.

Jean debates on whether or not he should open it. If he opens it, he can’t really leave it unanswered. If he doesn’t open it, the Marco will probably assume he’s busy with schoolwork. For now, that’s the best option. But what should his reasoning be for not heading to the rink after school? Too much homework? Stayed home ‘sick’ (and then he could say he slept the day away, which is why he didn’t answer)? Family issues?

He wants to open it but. Marco can’t see him like this, not yet. If he didn’t have this stupid nasal cannula in he could, but unfortunately it’s uncomfortable resting in his nose.

Instead, he texts Armin.

**Jean:** hey man, im having a shit time with my lungs so im in the hospital, can you get me the notes im missing and also cover for me at the rink today

Almost immediately Jean’s phone dings.

**Armin:** Yeah, of course! What happened?

_ Of course _ Armin would use proper grammar and punctuation while texting.

**Jean:** dunno woke up with my lungs being asshats again

The door opens and Jean quickly locks his phone and sets it on the table beside himself.

“Well Jean,” the doctor says, flipping through the pages on his clipboard, “according to the test we’ve already done, you should be fine. It seems as if your condition is acting up slightly, but so far appears to be nothing serious. However, I would like to do a few more tests regardless, because it appears it may actually be one of your medications causing sudden complications.”

Jean sighs a little. On one hand, he’s relieved. On the other hand, this might mean trying out another medication which is always, well, not easy. There’s a span of time where everything  _ hurts.  _ Specifically his lungs. His body attempting to adjust usually results in coughed up blood.

“We’ll be taking you in for another test in about a half an hour.”

* * *

Marco absent mindedly munches on his dinosaur chicken.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Sasha asks from across the table, her food already demolished.

Marco, pulled from his thoughts, glances up at her. A slight blush crosses his face as he realized  _ what  _ he had been thinking about - the previous night.

“Ooh!” Sasha’s face lights up. She pushes her plate out of the way and leans forward onto the table, “You’re red! What is it? What happened?”

“A-ah, it’s nothing-”

“Are you done, Sasha?” Mrs. Jaeger asks, a gentle smile on her face as she reaches for Sasha’s empty plate, “Would you like anything else?”

“An ice cream sundae!” The brunette bounces in her seat.

“Of course,” Eren’s mom says, “coming right up!”

“Okay,” Sasha leans forward yet again, a twinkle in her eye. “You have to tell me what happened.”

“I, uh. Sasha, it’s not…” Marco pauses and sighs. Her gaze is unwavering. “Okay, um. Alright so Jean and I are-”

“Dating, I know. It’s obvious. Continue.”

“We kind of… did stuff last night?” he says, feeling the confusion in his own voice. “It was nice but. I guess I’m nervous? I’ve never actually done stuff with a guy before and it’s so different.”

“Probably not as gentle as Mina, hm?” Sasha muses. “Anyways, what about him? Has he ever, with another guy?”

“No,” Marco replies, trying not to feel on edge about the Mina comment.

“Then he probably feels the same way.”

“I know,” Marco says, his voice quiet, “I’m not worried about it or anything. I was just thinking about it is all. Also,” he glances at his phone, sitting on the table, “He hasn’t answered me. Not that I’m overly worried about that either but…”

* * *

 

“Well, Jean,” his doctor smiles (Jean can’t quite tell what kind of smile it is), “you’re pretty much clear to go. We’re going to keep you overnight though. We also will be putting you on a new medication. Replacing the Pelentor will be Redenca.”

That’s the medication that keeps his airways open. Or, well, that attempts to.

There’s a silence that fills the room, save for the beeping of several different machines.

“Isn’t that… his main medication? Is it really a good idea to change it? He’s been on it since his last relapse and it hasn’t caused any issues so I don’t understand-”

“Mrs. Kirschtein,” the doctor cuts off his mother, “please don’t worry. I believe this would be a much smarter plan that keeping him on Pelentor. I consulted with your old doctor back in California and he agrees that this is a much better option. After all, Pelentor is only meant for those under the age of eighteen. And if I’m correct, your birthday is in about a month.”

“What are the side effects?” Jean asks. He feels like a knife of anxiety has stabbed him in the stomach.

“The same as Pelentor, actually. It’s made by the same company, even, but it’s meant for those over eighteen. If anything, you shouldn’t even notice the switch.”

Jean glances at his mother. He can see the worry in her eyes as she studies the doctor. She looks skeptical of him, of this change, but when she notices his gaze she offers a comforting smile.

Sometimes Jean doesn’t quite hate his mother as much as he thinks he does.

Behind his mother’s messy bun, he can’t really see anything outside. It’s completely dark out and it’s only what, seven o clock? But he can see his own reflection. And for once, he doesn’t look like shit after being stuck in the hospital all day.

* * *

Marco falls back on his bed with a loud sigh of relief. His bed doesn’t feel quite a comfy since it’s unmade, but either way it’ll do. He holds his phone above his head and hopes it doesn’t land square on his face if he drops it. Unlocking it, he notices he has no notifications from, well, anything. Which means nothing from Jean.

He’s overthinking this. He doesn’t quite know what he’s over thinking - he’s not worried that Jean doesn’t like him or anything. They’ve both already made their feelings clear. So, he guesses he’s not worried about anything but rather, he wants to talk to him?

Marco groans and rolls onto his side. Maybe he had hoped they could end their night with a cute phone call ending with an  _ I love you  _ fight and seeing who’ll hang up first.

Curious, he decides to see what’ll happen if he sends a message his way.

**Marco:** are you busy?

**Jean:** uhh not at the moment

**Jean:** wait shit my last message to you didn’t send im so sorry omfg

**Jean:** i was wondering why you hadn’t responded but i had a shit ton of homework tonight

Marco feels some sort of relief when he reads the message. Not only had Jean tried to message him, but he wasn’t being ignored. Granted, Armin had mentioned that to him, but he couldn’t help but worry until he heard it from Jean himself.

**Marco:** its okay!!!! I was worried is all

He can’t help the huge grin that crosses his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This chapter is both important and filler. The important side is Jean's side of the story - this is kind of the beginning of a new arc. Almost. There's one more arc to get through before the main arc of the story really takes off. Also Marco seems kind of out of character (or a lot) but I'm going to say that's stress of the Olympics being in like, a week? Like he's internally freaking out.
> 
> Either way, I hope you liked this chapter! I'm really looking forward to chapter eleven - it's going to include some pretty great moments of the story as well as one of the moments I've been most looking forward to writing.


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